Saying Goodbye

I've been staring at this empty posting screen for close to ten minutes.

I don't know what to say.  How to start.

This is my dog, Sparky.  In the truest sense, he isn't really mine -- he is my sister's, first, last, and always. But Sparks spent much of his life in the beautiful home my parents made, as did I.  He became mine in the way that people, and pets, always eventually come to 'belong' to those that love them.  He became a part of our family, intrinsic and irreplaceable.

Last night, my parents called to tell me that Sparky had been attacked by a neighbor's dog.  The dog had broken Sparky's neck, and he had died almost instantly.

Devastated doesn't even cover it.

Sparky was 13 when he died, which in people years would be 91.  Several months earlier, an x-ray had revealed a tumor taking up space in as much as half of one lung.  The vet put him on medication to help his wheezing, and basically told my parents to make him as happy and comfortable as possible.  This they did, as a matter of course, of course, because Sparky was part of our family.  I looked forward to seeing him during skype calls and hoped that he would exercise his usual stubbornness to the extent that I would have a chance to see him again when I came home in June.

And I knew that every day could bring bad news.

When my Dad called me at 2:00 AM last night, I knew immediately that something bad had happened.  "It's Sparky," my Dad said.  But I was absolutely, utterly unprepared for what he told me next.

I suppose it is unsurprising that the shock and violence of his death makes it so much harder to accept.  The anger of being robbed of those possible few months I had to spend with him, months that I fully expected to be my last chance.  But as the initial anger fades, I find I am also strangely -- a little bit -- relieved that he doesn't have to suffer through months or years of steadily declining life, struggling to breathe.

In no way do those feelings make what happened anything like okay.

But, as my Mother says, what's done is done.  The owners of the other dog have done the right thing, which eases something in my heart but also makes me sad that this horrible incident has ultimately resulted in the loss of not one but two beloved pets.

I will remember Sparky as the puppy who chose for his favorite toy a soccer ball that was as big as he was.  He chased that thing all over the yard with truly amazing stamina and determination, standing with his two front paws balanced on the ball and barking at us until we would come over and kick it for him again.

I will remember him as the tiny dog who would chase after a laser pointer like a cat.  It was the best thing ever.

I'll remember how, even as he got old, hearing the sound of the lawnmower starting meant it was time for him to go outside and chase the frisbee.

The dog with a personality so big you'd never believe it would fit inside his 6-pound frame.

He was truly the best dog in the world -- made tiny poops, would ring a bell when he had to go outside (until he got old and cranky and decided that was silly), and loved waiting for wooden popsicle sticks to chew on after one of us had finished with the actual popsicle.  He loved chicken, bread, and dark-chocolate-covered espresso beans (long story).  He hated popcorn, but that never stopped him from begging for it when there was a bowl on the coffee table.

I will miss you, my Boo.  Safe travels.